


Ad libitum

by htebazytook



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Drunkenness, First Time, Humor, M/M, Romance, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-21
Updated: 2009-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:46:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My lame attempt at Spock POV.  Also I seem to have completely forgotten about Uhura.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Ad libitum

**Author's Note:**

> My lame attempt at Spock POV. Also I seem to have completely forgotten about Uhura.

**Title:** Ad libitum  
 **Author:** [](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/profile)[**htebazytook**](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** <\--  
 **Pairing:** Kirk/Spock  
 **Time Frame:** Reboot  
 **Author's Notes:** My lame attempt at Spock POV. Also I seem to have completely forgotten about Uhura.

 

 

Kirk has matured considerably over the past few months. (Five months, two days, thirteen hours.) Commanding a starship seems to have forced him into it, which is a positive development for both the crew and Kirk himself. It has _done him good_ , as Dr McCoy often remarks, shaking his head either in irritation or fondness—Spock has difficulty in differentiating the two when it comes to Dr McCoy.

Even Spock cannot deny that the Captain has earned himself some leisure time. And so he sits in the Captain's chair once again while most of the crew accompanies Kirk to space station. Spock of course prefers running routine maintenance on the _Enterprise_ 's computer system to socializing with humans and engaging in drunken revelry . . .

 _Someone_ has to run reports.

"You can handle it from here while I get some shut eye, can't you, Mr Spock?"

"Certainly, Lieutenant. You are relieved," Spock replies, barely glancing up, left alone on the bridge with nothing but his reports for company.

The turbolift doors open (eighteen minutes, forty-one seconds later). Spock hears uneven, heavy footsteps approaching him and does not sigh.

"Spock! You're still up here? God, it's, like, _late_ , man."

Spock does not sigh, again. "It is indeed late, however I . . . Captain, I feel it is my duty to inform you of the particularly striking aroma of alcohol about your person."

Kirk grins. "No shit, what did you think we were doing down there? Hey, what're _you_ doing?" Kirk peers over Spock's shoulder, tries to sit in the captain's chair with him and shushes his protests, insists there's room, ends up half on the arm of the chair and half in Spock's lap.

Spock raises an eyebrow. "I am running maintenance reports." This is obvious, and it definitely does not require that Kirk be in such close proximity.

Kirk nods. "Right, right. You're . . . _smart_ , y'know that?"

Spock stares into Kirk's glazed eyes (five seconds) but nothing else seems forthcoming. Kirk's tongue swipes over his bottom lip. "I hardly think you are in any condition to take command, Captain. Perhaps you ought to . . . 'sleep this off'—if I am phrasing the colloquialism correctly?" Kirk just blinks at him, nods vaguely again. "Captain?"

"Oh my _God_ , Spock, I have a name, y'know," Kirk whines, rubbing at his eyes.

Spock puts his PADD aside. "I am aware," he says, tries to pry Kirk off of him, but Kirk clings and laughs. "Captain, I really must insist that you—what are you doing?"

Kirk's hand moves down Spock's arm. "Fuck, you feel _good_." He squirms disjointedly until he's straddling Spock, hands running over his chest. "Mm, don't tell me this isn't turning you on," he says, mouth quirking.

Spock blinks, hands going to Kirk's hips when he unbalances for a moment. The body underneath the denim of Kirk's civilian clothes is becoming overheated. "What are you doing?" Spock repeats.

"Well . . ." Kirk makes a show of considering. " _You_ told me not to bang any alien girls at that club, so, uh, _logically_ , ahaha, logically, I deduced that you just . . . wanted me all to yourself. Come on, you want me." Kirk laughs, nearly toppling again and falling into Spock instead. His whole body is fever hot.

"I do not remember phrasing it in those words," Spock says, trying to find a way to get through to him, but Kirk's so insistent, touching him so much—

Kirk licks his lips and his face encroaches and he's kissing Spock, light brush of his mouth, surprisingly slow and restrained. Despite the fairly minimal contact Kirk groans, cups Spock's face and continues kissing him and breathing hot, drugged breath over Spock's moistened lips.

"Oh God, kiss me, come _on_." Kirk licks up Spock's jawline, writhes against him. "Do you even _know_ how fucking hot you are? Smart and reserved and . . . and uniform. Just . . . please, come on come on . . ."

Spock raises an eyebrow and pushes Kirk back. "Exactly how much alcohol did you consume during this very brief shore leave?"

Kirk laughs. "Who cares? You _want_ me." He leans in for another kiss.

Spock pushes him back again. "I am not as confident in that assertion as you seem to be."

Kirk sighs, cannot seem to stop laughing for long. "No no, you're wrong, I _know_ that you do. It's all up here!" he says, tapping his head. "You've, you've just _gotta_ . . ." He touches Spock's face, eyes unguarded, and Spock is suddenly, inexplicably unable to move, feels like he's watching Kirk's full lips nudge against someone else's mouth, is almost positive it isn't actually his own hands tightening around Kirk, his own moan or his own desperation in kissing Kirk back and he has no idea how much time is passing—

 _fw-EEEEE-oo._ " _Engineering to bridge. Are ye there, Captain?_ "

Kirk jumps and Spock clamps a hand over his mouth. "Yes, Mr Scott, the Captain is here, however he is—"

" _Drunk off his arse? Yeah, I already know that, Commander, who do yeh think encouraged 'im into his current state? I figured he'd find his way onto the bridge—he's been yammerin' on about needing to talk to you pretty much all night. You going to make sure the Captain gets home safe an' sound or what?_"

"Um . . . certainly, Mr Scott."

" _All right, then. Scott out._"

Kirk grins dazedly at him, chest heaving. "Yeah, I should really get to bed," he leers.

Spock manages to slip out from under him, slings one of Kirk's arms around his shoulders and steers him to the turbolift.

"Mmm, we going to your place or mine, Spock?" Kirk asks against Spock's neck. He can't seem to stop kissing any exposed skin within reach, murmuring nonsense and insisting that he _knows_ , he _knows_ . . . knows what exactly?

"Here we are, sir. I trust you will have a pleasant evening."

Kirk's laughter is cut off by the mechanical sound of his cabin door shutting.

 

*

 

Kirk is attractive.

Humans, certainly, have no trouble reaching the conclusion that James Kirk is physically attractive. That he is desirable or charming or any number of variations on that theme. Even his penchant for recklessness falls, strangely, under the category of charm. He can be stubborn, but that often aids him in getting what he wants. This holds a certain appeal, one supposes.

It must make sense to humans if the way they react to him is any indication. But then again humans have trouble separating what is exciting from what is harmful—they seem to crave exciting people and situations too desperately to even consider how destructive they may be. This could explain why humans are attracted to James Kirk.

It does _not_ explain why Spock is attracted to him.

Kirk may act on impulse much of the time, but he is not unintelligent. _Intelligence_ is surely an admirable characteristic . . .

The way Kirk's uniform hugs his body is not. Kirk's lush mouth and bright eyes and impudent smirk are not. The particular way Spock's name sounds on Kirk's tongue is _not_.

Kirk lacks perspective. He sees what he wants to see and operates in accordance with his world view alone.

. . . Spock is not so different. And it would be remiss of him to assume that Kirk's optimism, his _faith_ , is incorrect all of the time. It has certainly served him well, and that holds a certain logic.

It is difficult to find a logic to James Kirk. For example, sometimes, when Kirk comes close, his voice close and just for him, Spock doesn't hear what he says for the first eight seconds.

Highly illogical.

 

*

 

"Energize," Kirk says.

They beam down to the planet with a science team and Spock watches the flickers of light over Kirk's face, his no-nonsense expression. He is pleased with Kirk's seriousness when it comes to duty—definitely not the cheerful little smile he shoots in Spock's direction before addressing the landing party.

"I want a report on every pebble within a ten mile radius. Every abnormal reading, every pretty flower—seriously, guys, let's try _not_ to invite any fun mind-altering allergens back onto the ship." Kirk turns to Spock. "You got a readout for me?"

Spock studies his tricorder, walks a little away from Kirk both to get a better signal and to ward off potential distraction.

"Rock formations to the east, point-five miles. High nitrogen soil content, arid climate but there is a water source—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know all that Spock. Are people gonna be able to live here?" Kirk comes up close to him, looks over his shoulder at the tricorder.

When Spock turns to answer him they are too close, but Spock continues as if his heart rate has not elevated in . . . surprise: "It is hard to say, Captain. However I do estimate that the survival rate for a humanoid on this planet is approximately four-thousand, seven-hundred and thirteen point three to—"

"Well, gee, could you at least _try_ to be a little more specific?" Kirk's eyes do something like dancing, his mouth suggests a smile. Kirk pats his arm. "Never mind, Commander. I'll leave you to it," he says as he walks away to join the rest of the team.

Spock exhales, pleased to concentrate on calculating his readings alone.

A hand slaps onto Spock's shoulder and stays there even after he jumps in surprise, looks quickly up into Kirk's face, in shadow from the sun with the fringe of his hair gone molten gold. He smiles down at him and Spock irrationally latches onto the shape of his eyelashes and the way they brush one another at the corners of his eyes when he smiles. "Hey, the others found something. Come on." His hand doesn't move, slips down over Spock's arm like it had the other night (sixty hours, four minutes ago) and away.

 

*

 

Later, after his shift has ended, Spock meditates, and he thinks about Vulcan.

His intended mate is dead. He is not entirely certain that he, only half Vulcan, will ever experience pon farr. This issue seems at the same time more and less important than ever before. There is an implicit duty to assist in the reconstruction of his species. But, Kirk is . . .

Under most circumstances, things become simpler after he thinks about them. But it would seem that simplicity and Kirk are two opposing forces.

Kirk who sneaks up behind him on the bridge, catches Spock's impatience when it threatens to manifest itself. Walks with the confidence expected of a Starfleet captain. Walks with his hips, walks fluidly over to the science station. His lips are parted. The intimacy in his voice. His brief, warm touches. How he goes out of his way to keep Spock happy.

Spock . . . wants to keep Kirk happy—he should do everything in his power to keep the Captain of the _Enterprise_ happy. He has a duty to Starfleet, too, and therefore the _Enterprise_ and therefore the Captain. And therefore Jim.

Spock knows what he wants.

 

*

 

Spock waits in Kirk's quarters while he showers (seventeen minutes, twelve seconds—wasteful). Kirk's bed is neatly made, every vid put away, every article of clothing hidden. It is not unexpected to find Kirk's living space so barren considering he does the majority of his living elsewhere. Still, the generous captain's quarters were an opportunity for Kirk to personalize, to relax, to forget about keeping things in their proper place, but it is just as ordered as his command. It is not unexpected, but Spock is still surprised that his own quarters have more personality than Kirk's.

The shower shuts off. Spock stands, straightens his uniform shirt.

Kirk moves slowly into the room, white towel around his waist, shower steam puffing out around him. His body is shiny with condensation, flushed and pale in places. His eyelashes clumped together. The line of his body. Spock is suddenly out of breath. Kirk is intent on the dresser and doesn't notice him.

"Captain, a word."

Kirk jumps, eyes wide and mouth open, breathing a bit labored from the shower. "Spock, what're you doing here?"

"Jim . . ." Spock begins, striding quickly over to him, placing a bold hand on the heated, damp skin of Kirk's arm. Kirk swallows, eyes widening even more. "Not long ago you propositioned me, in what I perceived to be a sexual manner . . ." Spock is unable to speak with Kirk looking at him like that.

". . . Ye _ah_. 'Cause I was _hammered_ , remember?" Kirk laughs, relaxing instantly. "Forget about it. I had assumed we were just gonna forget about it based on the way we were, y'know, _forgetting_ about it." Kirk grabs a smaller towel from a drawer and scrubs at his hair with it. "Anyway, that was, like, forever ago."

"Sixty-five hours, ten minutes, and fifty-two seconds." Kirk stops what he's doing to look at Spock in disbelief, steps closer to him. "Actually."

"So, uh, let me get this straight— _you_ want _me_? Seriously?"

Spock clears his throat. He is becoming impatient. "Please, Captain. You are not contributing to the effectiveness of my seduction."

"That what this is?"

"Captain, must I point out that you _insisted_ I wanted you? I do not understand why you were not expecting this."

Kirk shakes his head. "Look, to be totally honest? I don't really remember shore leave all that well. I do remember molesting you on the bridge in some way, but the details are a little hazy. Anyway, I apologize for my behavior—I know how unprofessional and annoyingly human you must find it, but can we move on, please? I do kind of have a rule about dating subordinates."

"Captain, I really must insist, I—" Kirk's looking at him again, all bewildered concern. "Despite all logic you appear to have been right—it is . . . difficult for me to be in your presence without desiring . . . without considering the possibility of . . . I . . ."

Kirk peers at him. "How long have you thought of me like this, Spock?"

When it comes to Kirk, Spock can't keep track of things like emotions or motivations, let _alone_ time. He's probably wanted Kirk before he even knew it himself, deep in his subconscious, off in other lifetimes.

"Fifty-eight hours, twenty-two minutes . . . and . . ." Can Kirk even tell that he is lying? Does he fully understand the gravity of the situation? Perhaps it is better if he does not.

Kirk kisses him.

Spock watches his eyes close—the clumpy lashes, the sheen of moisture over his nose. Kirk's tongue runs warm and slippery over Spock's lower lip and it startles a sound out of him. Kirk's fingertips trailing down Spock's arms as he deepens the kiss. Spock closes his eyes, his senses multitasking between Kirk's mouth and his fingers lacing with Spock's, bringing Spock's hands to his bare sides where they move hesitantly, mapping damp silken skin. Spock lets Kirk's tongue invade his mouth, finds himself incapacitated by an onslaught of dizziness. Kirk seems to sense it, slows the pace of the kiss deliciously until their lips cling and Spock can feel Kirk smile.

Spock tries to catch his breath. "You have changed your mind?"

Kirk shrugs. "I mean, I've never had sex with a Vulcan before, and you're pretty gorgeous, so." He runs his hands up Spock's arms. "You're not gonna accidentally squeeze the life out of me, are you?"

Spock feels it best not to comment.

Kirk's brow creases a little. " _Are_ you?"

"It is . . . unlikely."

Spock waits for a beat, waits for the return of Kirk's smile, then pulls him close again and this time Spock initiates the kiss, pressing gratefully into Kirk's cushiony lips, gets them to open under his tongue. Kirk moans into his mouth, leans on Spock 'til they're stumbling toward Kirk's bed.

Kirk grabs fistfuls of Spock's clothing and Spock doesn't even think about touching him before he's doing it—he _wants_ to, and Kirk feels wonderful and the way he writhes into his touch . . .

"Mm, this is fun," Kirk murmurs. "Isn't it? _Mm_ , you really are hot. I can see why I tried to jump you. Do you ever take this off or is it just glued on there?" Kirk tugs on Spock's shirt, sitting on his bed with the towel still around his waist and staring up at Spock with big, scarily blue eyes and dripping hair.

Spock can't find his voice so he just yanks his shirts over his head and pushes Kirk down, quickly follows to resume kissing him, overwhelmed, groans when Kirk gasps and winds his arms around Spock's neck. The rises and falls of Kirk's torso so sudden and electric against him.

Kirk's hand squirms between them until he's palming Spock's arousal through his trousers. Spock shudders, breaking the kiss, closes his eyes against Kirk's husky laugh and playful tongue licking back into his mouth. Spock feels boneless and entirely too unstable.

Kirk grunts and pulls Spock's hips flush against his, starts working on Spock's fly while muttering what he wants to do to him into his ear, biting and licking from lobe to tip for punctuation. Spock just shudders again and tries not to implode.

Kirk gets Spock's trousers undone but Spock has to sit up to get them the rest of the way off, kicks off his boots and some other stray articles of clothing. He turns back to Kirk—mouth bruised redly, propping himself upright and still in the towel, not that it's doing the best job of concealing his arousal.

"Come on, Spock." Kirk's tone is soft and sincere. "Tell me that you really want this."

Spock does want this. His eyes roam over Kirk's body—oh, he _does_. "That would be . . . a logical assumption."

Slow smile creeping up on Kirk's face. "Yeah? So c'mere."

Spock pushes Kirk back down, really noticing the towel this time against his own skin, can feel how hard Kirk is through the cloth. He presses into him and gets a low luscious sound out of Kirk.

Spock lets his hand trail down Kirk's chest, over ribs and muscle and soft little hairs, rising and falling with his breathing. Kirk squirms around to help Spock get rid of the towel and then just _pulls_ Spock on top of him, letting loose an escalating variety of pleasurable little sounds with every brush of skin, every hard press of their bodies.

Spock kisses around Kirk's neck, salty with sweat. Kirk's body temperature won't stop rising and he can't seem to stop rocking up into Spock, touching him, seeking out kisses.

"So are you gonna fuck me or what?" Kirk asks, hoarse and shaky in Spock's ear. He rolls his hips for good measure.

Heat sears through Spock, doubles his arousal impossibly. He can't find his voice.

" _Please_."

They go back to kissing, faster and sloppier, hands getting restless. Kirk strains to the side to unearth a bottle of lubricant from a nearby drawer which Spock steals before Kirk can even attempt to open it. Kirk lets Spock kiss him deep, into the pillow, the fingers of one hand twisting Kirk's hair while the others work inside him.

Kirk's good at relaxing, makes contented little _mm_ 's to let Spock know when he's ready for more. His brow creases when Spock adds a second finger and Spock is surprised by how much the tiny shifts in Kirk's expression are affecting him, by how desperately he needs to get Kirk's features utterly relaxed, senseless with pleasure. He's got to make sure the only thing Kirk can think about is Spock, obsessively, irrationally—

"Oh, _God_." Kirk's grip on Spock's forearm turns vice-like. Spock pushes against the spot again and Kirk's head lolls back. "Shit . . ."

"Fascinating."

"I can't believe you just said that," Kirk says breathlessly, eyes squeezed shut.

Spock might allow a tiny smirk against Kirk's neck. "At this juncture, I believe our copulation would be better served if you were to position yourself on your stomach. Now."

Kirk grins. "Spock, you kinda suck at this, you know that?"

Spock seizes Kirk's shoulders and flips him around himself. "I asked you to turn over."

Kirk laughs, shivers, then lets out a long, continuous moan as Spock enters him. Spock is grateful for his ability to suppress—to _ignore_ —things, because Kirk's body feels so amazing around him he's unable to think of anything else. He tries not to go too fast but Kirk's eagerness, his gorgeous parted lips and the sounds pouring out of them make it impossible.

Spock thrusts into Kirk steadily, shallow, unbelievable jolts of pleasure skipping haphazardly through his body. He's barely aware of Kirk's reaction, becoming engrossed in the feel of him. In the _sight_ of him. Pale skin, lightly freckled shoulders and back, hair drying slowly, his closed eyes and his wavering voice. Spock shudders and kisses the nape of his neck, lightheaded with pleasure and the smell of Kirk's skin.

"More," Kirk gasps. His face is smashed sideways into a pillow, grinding into it with every thrust.

"That is not very specific," Spock points out, going deep and seeing stars.

Kirk groans. "Fuck me _harder_." Pushes back against him.

Spock grips Kirk's hips more securely and complies. "Is this satisfactory?"

Kirk nods his head frantically, whines and moves with him. Spock watches Kirk's hands twisting the sheets, the muscles in his back straining, hears only echoes of Kirk's disjointed words. He can't get control of his senses, can't understand them over the roaring in his ears. He is not actually here, he _cannot_ be, it is not possible to be so out of control, so completely overwhelmed by a simple _feeling_ . . .

Spock takes Kirk's cock in hand to stroke in time with his thrusts, gets Kirk's eyes to roll back, a dazed smile, gets Kirk to say his name in the particular way he does, over and over, low and drawn out or staccato and breathy. Terrifying pleasure swirling around Spock, engulfing him until Kirk's insistent counterpoint pushes him over the edge.

Kirk cries out nonsense and follows him, spilling heat through Spock's fingers. There's a small eternity of unthinkably good blankness before Spock becomes suddenly aware of their breathing, languid limbs and sweat. He relaxes, finally.

Spock rolls over onto his side. It is difficult to find enough space on Kirk's small bed but Kirk soon rearranges himself until he is draped over Spock, sighing. It seems as though every cell in Spock's body is still vibrating with pleasure—relief, more likely.

Kirk is perfect, content and a little smug and smiling. And Spock is simply relieved. It is nothing more than relief that he is once again in control of his faculties.

Obviously.

 

*


End file.
